


Red Dead Redemption 2 - The Written Tale

by Eonneo



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Other, Red Dead Redemption 2 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-10 15:54:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17428952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eonneo/pseuds/Eonneo
Summary: By 1899, the age of outlaws and gunslingers was at an end. America was becoming a land of laws. Even the west had mostly been tamed. A few gangs still roamed, but they were being hunted down anddestroyed.





	1. PROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

> So. It's been about a month since I posted. And I have a new project under way. I love Red Dead Redemption. I do. It's the most diverse story I think I've ever personally enjoyed, with such good characters. I love it. So I want to take my time and do a project where I write out the 'story' as a written story.  
> Why, you may ask?  
> It will help be practice writing and let me be a part of a story I like. I will be keeping this 100% canon and will be choosing the 'good' ending for Arthur.  
> Major spoilers, and I have no set time of how I will upload and why.  
> This very first piece is just a glimpse of it. I've not submitted in a while, and I can't post status updates here, so I just want you all to know what's going on. FANFICTIONS WILL STILL CONTINUE, but so will this.  
> I hope you enjoy this with me.

The wind howled fiercer than any wolf, snow drifting through the cold blows, biting at the flesh. It was nearly night, the sun, most of which was already hidden behind the blizzard, falling below the horizon and mountains to rest. Silence hung between the carriages as the horses drug through the thick powder of the valley, their heavy breaths all too apparent even in the gusts. It had been a while since anything had been said between the riders, most of them huddling up, reserving their energy for any attempt to stay warm and ignore the pains of hunger that rumbled in their stomachs.  
Reverend Orville Swanson hopped off his post at the back of this carriage and carried himself through the snow to the front.  
“Abigail says he's dyin', Dutch. We'll have to stop some place,” he managed to say, though the weariness was apparent in his voice.  
“Okay,” Dutch Van Der Lind agreed without resistance. “Arthur's out looking. I sent him up ahead.”  
Swanson nodded quickly, turning to get back onto the carriage.  
Hosea Matthews, who rested in a heap of his coat next to Dutch, spoke.  
“If we don't stop soon, we'll all be dyin'. This weather...it's May.” He paused. “I'm just hoping the law got as lost as we did.”  
“There,” Dutch interrupted, pointing a cold, shaky gloved finger out into the blinding whiteness. “Arthur! Any luck?”  
Through the fog appeared Arthur Morgan on horseback. He managed to carry himself well, even in the blistering gusts of wind.  
“I found a place where we can get some shelter,” Arthur yelled, carrying his voice over the snow. “Let Davey rest while he...you know,” he trailed, taking the reigns of the horse and turning it to lead the disheveled group. “An old mining town, abandoned. It ain't far. C'mon.”  
“Come on!” Dutch asserted, whipping the reins of the two horses that led his carriage. They pushed hard, huffing, thick legs struggling to carry on, but so they did.


	2. COLTER - PART 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It begins - the writing of Red Dead Redemption 2. I was testy on how I wanted to start this, if I wanted to go with Arthur's point of view or what. But I'm pleased with it so far. I hope you enjoy this.

Tentatively, Hosea opened the door to the rotten cabin, the hinges resisting. He took a few steps in, holding the lamp out with his left hand to illuminate and his pistol cocked and ready in the left. There wasn't much but a few pieces of furniture and dust, and once satisfied that it was empty, he stepped back out.  
“Bring him in here!” he shouted to the others.   
One by one, they stepped into the cabin, starting with Abigail who rubbed her gloved hands together frigidly. Behind her, Bill Wiilliamson and Arthur carried Davey on a makeshift stretcher, setting him down on a nearby table. The rest of the group followed quickly and quietly.  
“Miss Gaskill, get that fire lit quick.” It was the older Susan Grimshaw speaking. “Miss Jones, bring in whatever blankets we have. Mr. Pearson, see what we've got in terms of food.” She sounded exhausted, but was certain in her requests.   
A moment of silence, all too familiar, sat between the members as the ones who had duties began them. Lamps were placed around, hardly giving much light to the dim cabin. The faces of the members were shadowed still, hiding their looks of sorrow.  
“Davey's dead,” Abigail said shortly.   
“There was...nothing more you could have done,” Swanson answered slowly, but promptly.   
There was an uneasiness about it, and they all knew it hung heavily within them. But there sat little time to mourn, Hosea quickly changing the subject.   
“What are we gonna' do? We need supplies,” Hosea questioned to Dutch.   
“Well, first of all, you're gonna' stay here, and you are gonna' get yourself warm. Now, I sent John and Micah scouting out ahead. Arthur and I, we're gonna' ride out, see if we can find one of 'em.”  
Arthur gave a curt look of dismay.  
“In this?” he asked, motioning to the outside weather.  
Dutch weighed the truth of the tasks' difficulty, but nodded.  
“Just for a short bit. I don't see what other choice we have.”  
Arthur said nothing more about the matter.  
Dutch then turned to face the group, who had taken to resting around each other, most heads to the floor.   
“Listen. Listen to me, all of you, for a moment,” he began. “Now, we've had...well, a bad couple of days. I loved Davey. Jenny.” He paused. “Sean, Mac, they may be okay. We don't know. But we lost some folks. Now, if I could...” He pointed his finger out at nothing in particular, shaking it. “throw myself in the ground in their stead, I'd do it. Gladly.”   
Arthur, who stood near Hosea, gave a small nod of approval to Dutch.  
“But, we're gonna ride out, and we are gonna' find some food. Everybody, we're safe now.” Dutch's voice began to raise, and it was obvious that his words stuck with the members of the group. “There ain't nobody following us through a storm like this one. And by the time they get here, well, we're gonna' be, we're gonna' be long gone. We've been through worse than this before.”   
“Mr. Pearson,” Dutch began. Simon Pearson had been turned away from Dutch, looking out a window to the storm. At the mention of his name, he perked up, giving full attention. “Miss Grimshaw, I need you to turn this place into a camp.” They both gave looks that showed they acknowledged their responsibilities. “We may be here a few days. Now all of you, all of you! Get yourselves warm. Stay strong. Stay with me! We ain't done yet!”   
Satisfied with his motivation, he turned back, grabbing a lamp from the table.   
“Come on, Arthur!”   
“Alright, we've got some work to do!” Arthur heard Miss Grimshaw say as he walked out the door with Dutch.   
“Well, we ain't run into them yet. So, they both must of headed down the hill,” Dutch reasoned about John and Micah while Arthur shut the cabin door. He pulled his coat tighter over his chest, the wind sharp.  
“Sure.,” Arthur agreed quickly. “Hey. I ain't had time to ask. What really went down back there on that boat?” It took a loud voice to be heard over the wind.  
Dutch hesitated.  
“We missed you, that's what happened. Come on.”   
Arthur wasn't all too satisfied with that answer, but he didn't push it, following Dutch through the snow with heavy steps.   
“Hey! You need horses?” It was Charles Smith, wading through with two horses on either side of him.   
“Oh, yeah! And Mr. Smith, get yourself indoors. You need to rest that hand.”   
Arthur mounted his horse. It was white with black spots. Nothing large and amazing, but it would do.  
“I'll live,” Charles dismissed.  
“Get indoors, son!” Dutch spat as he pulled onto the other horse. “I...we, need you strong,” he assured, kicking off without giving Charles a chance to reply.   
“Okay,” Arthur said to himself.   
“Alright, let's head out,” Dutch said.   
The trot through the blistering snow began, and immediately the horses showed resistance. Although powerful, the powder was a hassle, halfway up their legs. Though Arthur had a lamp with him, and so did Dutch, he was unable to see too far ahead of him. The breeze stung his cheeks bitterly, but he and Dutch attempted to stick to their best idea of a trail, which began with a lining of fences.  
“Ain't sure what we're gonna' find out here, Dutch,” Arthur reluctantly wondered.   
“We have to try. Stay close, we'll do our best to stick to the trail.”  
“This goddamned weather,” Arthur exclaimed.   
“Been two days or more like this now. Oh, it has to blow over soon.”   
Arthur's horse struggled to keep up with Dutch's. He hated to push the beast so harshly, but if he or Dutch were to lose themselves in the cold mountains, then they would surely die.   
“Careful over this bridge here,” advised Dutch. It looked sturdy enough, but Arthur couldn't truly tell, as it were as white as everything else. It held him well enough, thankfully, the frigid water roaring underneath.   
“Can't believe we lost Davey too,” Arthur stuttered, catching up with Dutch.  
“He's the last one, Arthur. No more. We need to get those people warm and fed.”   
“Least we don't need to worry about Pinkertons tailing us in this,” Arthur added. That was more a hope than a certainty.   
“A couple more days, we'll be on the other side. You need to help me pick the others back up. You're the only one I can rely on to stay strong right now,” Dutch admitted, giving Arthur a strong look of approval.   
“We got fire and shelter, that's a start.”   
They were beside the river now, going slightly up hill.   
“Hey. I think I see something up that path.”  
They both stopped, holding their lanterns up. Through the fog was a figure, and Arthur was on immediate edge. He couldn't judge his targets very well, and anything and anyone could be hiding out there, just as he and his gang were.   
“You, up ahead! Who's there?” Dutch shouted.  
Slowly, Micah Bell came down the slope, lamp to his face. Frost dressed his long, greasy hair and mustache, and he looked none too pleased, eyes tired.   
“Gentleman,” he groaned, trotting towards them on his horse.  
“Find anything?” Dutch asked.  
“I think so. Found a little homestead down thataway,” he said, a flick of his head to behind him.   
“Okay. Anyone home?”   
“Sure,” Micah said matter-of-factly. “Place is blazing with light and noise. Sounded like a party.”  
“Let's go see.”   
“Follow me.” He turned back the way he came, Arthur and Dutch following.   
“How's Davey doing?” he hollered back.  
“Ah, he didn't make it,” answered Dutch without much reserve. “Nor did little Jenny.”  
“That's too bad. Davey was a real fighter. Both of them Callander boys is, or...was.”  
“Yeah.”  
“And Mac and Sean?”   
“We don't know.”  
“Quite a business.”  
The incline became steeper, almost entirely up hill. The horses heaved, snorting and whinnying the entire time. Arthur felt slightly relieved to have found Micah, but even more so that there might be a place with food and something more to offer the gang. It kept him going as the cold tried to sneak its way through his thick clothes. Even with that, though, he had to acknowledge that John had not been seen nor mentioned.  
“I'm glad you alright, Micah!” Dutch shouted.  
“Always.”  
“Ask him if he's seen John!” Arthur questioned, hoping his voice carried to Dutch.  
“Hey, have you seen John, Micah?”   
“Didn't see much of anything once this storm came in.”  
“He hasn't seen him!” Dutch then yelled back.  
“He'll be fine. Things always turn out right for that boy,” Arthur replied dismissively, and he believed it.  
“I hope...Mac and Sean are still out there somewhere too.” It was just an idle thought spoken aloud by Dutch that Arthur was thinking himself.   
The crawl up the mountain had became slow and unmeasured, and for a moment, Arthur questioned to himself if Micah knew at all where he was taking the lot of them. It was real easy to get lost in that kind of environment. The further up the mountain they went, the less cover they had to keep from the extremities and unwelcome visitors.   
“Move up, Arthur, I'll cover the rear,” Dutch advised, and Arthur listened. As he pushed his horse to speed up, it neighed in protest.  
“You sure about this, Micah?” Arthur had to ask, considering at that moment, him and Dutch both were on the line. Arthur had never truly trusted Micah, anyway. He was always quick to shoot first and never even bother to ask questions later, and more than once had it caused problems between him and the gang.   
“Mr. Morgan, I never thought I would be so pleased to see your face. Been kind of...lonely out here. Where's everyone else?” His words had a hang to them, and Arthur could hear the disdain in his voice.  
Finally, the mountain began to tip downward, and the horses let it take over their stride, their pace quicker. Arthur was grateful for the change.  
“Old mining camp, back up the hill.”  
“Huddled around a fire waiting for daddy to put food on the table. I've said it before, we got too many mouths to feed.”  
“Well, we got a few less now, so you should be happy,” Arthur figured.  
“That ain't fair, Arthur. I earn my share. You think it's unreasonable to expect others to do the same?”   
Arthur ignored his comments, just as Micah had ignored the point of the conversation. He didn't appreciate Micah's attitude at a time when they all needed to stick together.  
“Okay, let's keep it down now, gentleman. It's just up ahead.”  
“Snuff and stash those lanterns, boy. Best you two lie low on this.”   
The three of them came upon a ledge. Barely visible was a cabin at the bottom, some fencing and a barn nearby with sheds scattered about. It was obvious that at least someone were in the cabin, as it was lit brightly.  
“Okay, let's head down there,” Dutch led.  
They carried down the ledge and stopped at a patch of trees before the barn. There were two beat up hitch posts.  
“Let's hitch up here.”  
Once hitched, they stood looking towards the cabin.  
“Let me do the talking. We don't wanna' scare these folks,” Dutch said.  
They neared the cabin, dragging their boots through the snow as if there were a block of iron in their socks, the sounds of men and good times came echoing towards them.  
“Someone's having fun in there,” Micah reasoned.  
To Arthur's right was the barn, to the left, a small storage shed and some fencing.   
“You two, get yourself out of sight. One lonely man is a lot less intimidating than three nasty looking degenerates. Arthur, in that cattle shed on the left. Micah, get down behind that wagon in front.”   
The men took their places as Dutch walked up to the front of the cabin. Music was stringing out the windows, the soft glow of lamps apparent now in the darkness.  
“Hello?” Dutch greeted loudly.  
“ _Shut up, Billy! Shh, shh, shh!_ ” Murmuring came from the inside, the sound stopping abruptly.  
“Excuse me? Hello!” he repeated.  
A gruff looking, lean man opened the door..  
“Oh, well, hello friend!” Dutch began.   
“What you want?” the man called from the doorway. Arthur couldn't see if he had a gun in hand, but he treated all suspicious persons as armed.  
“I am very sorry to disturb you. Uh, my friends and I, well, we got into some....trouble up the way. Lost in the storm.”  
“We can't help you, mister,” the man pointedly said.   
“Psst.” It was Micah. “Arthur, we got a problem,” he whispered from his cover on the wagon. He stood up slightly, picking off the canvas cover of the wagon. “There's a corpse right here.” He let the canvas fall back down. “Arthur, there's a body in the wagon.”  
Arthur hesitated.   
“Yeah, I hear you, just...keep your eyes on Dutch.”  
“I think you should go now, buddy,” the man in the doorway said, stepping down off the porch. A couple more men came out, surrounding Dutch. Arthur thought for a moment about the right step to take, but he didn't have to think long. Nothing added up to those men being friendly, and he wasn't about to let Dutch die at their hands.  
He pulled his Cattleman revolver from its holster. He had one chance to make the shot work. If they heard the gunfire before he had the one across from Dutch out, then he'd risk Dutch dying. Arthur was exhausted. Cold. He could barely feel his finger on the trigger, but he gave no hesitation when he peaked over the shed's fence, holding his breath and shooting.   
The sound of the shot rang through the air, hitting its target clearly. The other men began screaming as the body fell, taking cover, bullets flying. Dutch himself took cover near a smaller shed right by the cabin, reacting to the mess.  
“There's another one shooting from the window!” he yelled, addressing the situation quickly.   
Arthur shot at another that ran out the door, two times, then aimed at the window. His first shot missed, and the figure stepped out just momentarily to return fire. It was in that moment Arthur ended him.  
A man ran out of the outhouse, gun in hand. Arthur wanted to laugh, but didn't let his guard down, offering a shot at the unsuspecting man as he raised his own gun towards Dutch.  
A break was in the firing, and Arthur jumped over the cattle shed fence. Behind him, a man ran up the slope, trying to disappear into the woods.   
“Leave him! He won't last out there by himself!” Dutch called.  
Arthur already had his eyes trained on him, pacing through the snow as quickly as he could. He aimed. First shot, missed. Second, missed.   
“Damn!” Arthur spat. He stopped moving, aimed, and hit him square in the back. The man fell, disappearing into the snow. When he didn't get back up, Arthur was satisfied, turning back towards the cabin.  
“Arthur, I said I'd handle this!” Dutch scolded. Micah was over to the side and appeared unhurt.  
“Didn't seem to be going too well,” Arthur retorted.  
“Goddamn O'Driscoll's boys here? Why?!”   
“I don't know, maybe same reason as us,” Micah said.  
“Micah, go bring the horses closer to the house. Arthur, let's go search the cabin.”  
Arthur followed Dutch in with unrest, gun drawn. It seemed void of life, however.  
“Smells like a party in here,” Arthur commented.  
“Turn the place upside down. Grab as many supplies as you can. We need the essentials. Food. Medicine. ...Whiskey.”  
Arthur began searching, but there wasn't much to be found. Over the fireplace, still lit, was an older photo of a bride and groom.   
“Looks like the poor bastard was married too, at some point,” he muttered.  
“If we can't eat it or drink it, put it down.”  
As the two searched, they found little. A few cans of food was the most of it.  
“O'Driscolls! I don't believe it.”  
“It's a strange one, alright. Maybe they're hiding up here, too. There's a big price on Colm O'Driscoll's head. Nlearly as big as the one on yours.”   
“Wanting Colm dead is about the only thing me and Uncle Sam agree on.”  
Arthur found a few bottles of medicine, but nothing amazing.  
“Place is dry, and warm. We could maybe move the women and Jack down here.”   
“Maybe. We'll see how they are when we get back. I don't really want us to split up,” Dutch admitted.  
“Keep searching while I path these on the horses. Meet me out here when you're done.”  
Arthur dug through the kitchen cabinets, but still found nothing of much value. When finished, he came outside.  
“Arthur, go see if there's anything in that barn. Micah, you search the cabin, see what we missed.”  
“Sure,” Arthur agreed. Once he neared it, he heard a horse making a fuss, as if it were panicked. This set Arthur on edge, so he opened the door and cautiously stepped in with his revolver in hand. It appeared empty, or so until Arthur felt a blow to his shoulder blades, knocking him down. He yelled in surprise, a male figure crawling over him that he kicked off.  
“You bastards shot my cousin!” said the deranged man.  
“Well, he started it!” Arthur retorted.  
“I'm gonna' break your neck!” the man spat, swinging.   
Arthur took the hit and gave two back, one to the face and one to the stomach. The man grunted, falling back. At this point, Dutch walked up to the door casually.  
“What's going on?”  
“This guy just jumped me!” Arthur said, hitting again. The man hardly had time to defend or hit back, taking Arthur's hits with futile attempts to block.  
“Oh, did he now?” Dutch laughed.  
A final hit, and the man was on the ground in a defensive position.  
“Sneaky little bastard. Should I kill him?”   
“No. Not yet. Find out what they're doing here, and where Colm is.”  
“Oh, this son of a bitch'll talk,” Arthur hissed, taking him by the throat. He brought the man up, other arm reared to hit.  
“Where's Colm O'Driscoll?” he asked.  
“With...the others...at an old mining camp southwest of here, near the lake.”  
Arthur gave a solid hit to the man's left cheek.   
“What are you bastards doing? Why are you up here?”  
“Eh, we're fixing to rob some train, gonna' blow the tracks. I don't know more than that, I swear!”  
Dutch chuckled, drawing on a cigarette he had lit.   
“Well, I would say it looks like you have this, Arthur. Do what you want with him, I don't care. But bring that horse when you're done.” Dutch dropped his cigarette to fizzle out and walked away.  
For the fun of it, Arthur hit the man again, simply for being involved with the enemy gang.   
“I don't know anything else! Please, please spare me,” he begged pathetically. Arthur shoved his head into the hay and horse shit of the barn, stepping back.  
“Get the hell outta' here. Go.”  
“Thank you!” he gratefully said, getting up and running out the door. Author didn't trust him, though. He knew where the O'Driscolls were and would tell. Not to mention, he had jumped him.   
At the doorway, Arthur pulled his pistol, held his breath, and shot. The man slumped right outside the fence.  
Inside, picking up his hat, Arthur went to calm the horse, which cried and reared itself. Slowly, he walked upon it, soothing it with a quiet voice. It took to him quickly, arguing no more. Taking the reigns, he led it out towards Dutch and Micah.   
“That looks like a decent horse. You should keep him. Tie him up over there, Arthur.”   
Just then, there came a bloody feminine scream from the cabin.   
“Get away from me!”   
“Micah, what the hell do you think you're doing?!” Dutch argued.  
Inside was a small, blonde female in a nightgown, backing up from Micah and running over to the table. She grabbed a bottle and threw it at him, yelling a fit.  
“Look what I found in the cellar! Wild thing, ain't you?”  
“Leave her alone!” Dutch demanded.  
She threw another bottle, which Micah dodged.  
“I wasn't doing nothing! She's one of them O'Driscolls!”  
“No she ain't Micah, look at her! Miss, miss!”  
She had snatched a knife off the table and was waving it erratically at Micah. She had fire in her eyes when she looked at him.  
Micah tipped the table over, knocking off a lamp, the cabin's wood quickly catching ablaze.  
“Oh, you fool, Micah!” Dutch stepped over and pushed him back towards Arthur.  
“Miss, now, it's gonna' be okay. We mean you no harm.” Dutch warily stood back as she held the knife out. He stepped a bit closer, placing a hand on the knife and the other on her shoulder. She seemed to take, not jerking back.  
“Come on, it'll be okay,” he assured. There wasn't much time to argue it, the flames creeping up the walls.  
“We need to get out of here, and quick.” Dutch said, leading the woman. “Come on now.”  
Outside, he offered his coat to the woman.  
“You okay, miss?”  
“They came three days ago. And my husband, they...” She choked up, sobs forming on her voice.   
“Okay, miss. You are safe now. And you can't stay here. You come with us.” They both glanced back at the building, now nearly engulfed.   
“Arthur,” Dutch called, handing him the lamp.  
“Miss, it's okay, alright?” Arthur assured. “We're bad men, but we ain't them, so, it's okay.”   
He lifted her up on the horse with Dutch, though he didn't have much strength left in him.   
“We'll keep you safe until you figure out what you wanna' do.”  
“What's your name miss?” Dutch asked.  
She didn't answer him, her eyes on her burning home.  
“Miss?”  
“Adler.”  
“Adler..”  
“Sadie Adler. Mrs. I...he...he was my husband,” she whimpered as they passed the wagon with the corpse. Behind, Arthur heard the cabin fall in on itself, crackling. He even felt the heat for a moment, but as they trotted away, it drifted into the wind.   
The journey back wasn't as harsh as the one out, though they all stayed silent. They were exhausted, tired, and cold, and Arthur had little left in him. He never thought he'd be so pleased to see the makeshift camp.  
“Hey, somebody's coming!” It was Lenny, gun raised. “Looks like t'ts Dutch. Hey everybody, Dutch is back!”  
“How'd you get on?” Hosea called. Some of the gang were around a fire, some in their makeshift houses.   
“Micah found a homestead, but he weren't the first. Colm O'Driscoll and his scum, they beat us to it. We found some of them there, but there is more about, apparently. Scouting a train.”   
The group had circled Dutch now, intrigued by the new female.  
“That's the last thing we need right now, Dutch,” Hosea reasoned, nodding towards her.  
“Well, it is what it is, but we found some supplies, some blankets, a little bit of food. And this poor soul, Mrs. Adler. Miss Tilly, Miss Karen, would you warm her up, give her a drink of something,” Dutch asked, coaxing Sadie towards the other women. “And Mrs. Adler, it's gonna' be okay. You're safe now.”  
As she walked off, Dutch shook his head and waved his hand out towards her.   
“They turned her into a widow. Animals.” He shook his head again. “I need rest. I haven't slept in three days.”  
“You're over here. Miss O.Shea will show you the way. Mr. Morgan, we put you in a room over here.”  
“Thank you Miss Grimshaw.”  
“Mr. Bell, you're with the fellers over there.”  
“What? How come Arthur gets a room, and I get a bunk bed next to Bill Williamson and a bunch of darkies?” His voice quieted down on the last word.  
“Get yourself to bed,” Hosea dismissed.  
The gang members went back to their resting places without further word. Arthur followed suit, concerned for what had happened to them, but beyond grateful to have a place to stay. He had little left he cared to think about, but he could only wonder what tomorrow would hold for himself and them. Maybe not just tomorrow, but the future in general, with members dead, and one missing.


End file.
